
Class 
Book 



GOOD MANNERS 

A FINE ART 



BY 



BISHOP OF CENTRAL NEW YORK 



The Rt. Rev. F/^j^untington, D.D, 

RK 

VOL 

IS THE 

PB0PER T 

OF THE 

Med Stales. 



SYRACUSE 

WOLCOTT & WEST 

1892 






-as** 



Copyright, 1891 
By WOLCOT I ,n: W I 






££e Carton rpreBL 

Vork 



' live hundred years ago a citizen of Old 
* England, born of humble parentage in a 
village of Hampshire, became Keeper of 
the Privy Seal, a Counsellor of the Crown, 
Surveyor of the Kings's Works in Wind- 
sor Park, Bishop of Winchester, twice 
Lord High Chancellor of the realm, strong 
enough to triumph over powerful enemies, 
and so one of the commanding figures in 
English History. Intelligent travelers are 
sure to be reminded of him when they look 
at Windsor Castle ; for among his varied 
accomplishments he was a learned archi- 
tect, and when Edward wanted to signal- 
ize his own and his nation' s victories by 
the erection of a Palace where " he might 
entertain the flower of European chivalry 
of which he was the acknowledged head," 
looking about for a builder who would 
build it first in his brain, he found this man 
of manifold genius. Windsor had been cho- 
sen for an occasional residence of sover- 
eigns since the time of the Conquest, but 



/) .u.i.\ ■ 



there were so Ear, the chronicle says, only 
• k a few irregular buildings with peppei 
boxes at the corners of them." 

iiiiy in the Kingdom was obliged 1 
send up a squad of masons and other la- 
borers to rear the superb structure after 

master's design, and thus there cam'' 
bo be what one historian, himself a Chief 
Justice, pronounced "for simplicity and 
grandeur an edifice superior to any royal 

idence in the world." On one of tl. 
castle-gates the architecl can* be cut 

an inscription in three words, "This made 
Wichem." The king was jealously an- 
noyed a1 the accidental or intentional 
equivoque. Wickham pacified him by 
telling him that the tri-verbal wri 
meant not that Wickham made the 
but thai the castle made Wickham, i 
tie being the nominative to the verb, wh< 
upon the court thereafter delighted to 
honor the in., ul y cl h !.■ i 

wished posterity to know that his su] 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 5 

ii Ltendence of the work had gained him a 
regal favor which raised him from a low 
degree to exalted fortune. 

The fact, however, is that William of 
Wykeham's high place among the great 
names of a great country is due not to any 
outward building or material monument 
whatever, but to a work which he wrought 
on the character and story of his land, 
generation after generation, by quite an- 
other kind of power. 

The instruments he wrought with were 
schools, schools like this Keble school of 
ours. It is, indeed, not certain that the 
Keble school would ever have existed, or 
would have been at all what it is, but for 
him and what he did. In a chapel window 
in Cornell University, the other day, I saw 
his image in his robes of office, painted 
there as an example and symbol of the 
commanding personal and public force of 
an educator of the young. His gentle 
mother's name was Sybil. The spirit of 



i/r/\ 



Ear-seeing and Foreseeing wisdom whisper 
Ing in thai word wnn into her life. 

For many years after his elevation to the 
prelacy tie revolved principles and ma- 
tured plans for the training of the youth 
of his nation in all good knowledge and 
conduct In A. D. L373, he opened the 
famous Free School at Winchester, and 
seven years later laid the foundation-stone 
at Oxford of what lias since been known 
as New or St. Mary's Col] So em- 

inently comprehensive were his provisions 
and so judicious his statutes that tlipy 
found their way and were copied elsewhere, 
in Oxford, al Eton and at Cambric! 
These seats of elegant scholarship, one of 
them planted on the spot wh< a child, 

he firsi learned to read and knelt down to 
say his daily prayers, with the count] 
institutions of learning which for centu- 
ries in Greal Britain and the United St 
have been originated, influenced and 
moulded by tin m, form a far worthier me- 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 7 

, , t 

morial than the Great Seal on which the 
king, at its presentation to him, caused 
the lilies of France to be engraved as a to- 
ken of his extending empire, or than the 
splendid cathedral and oratory at Win- 
chester where, at the age of sixty years, 
after he had so long practiced the shining 
virtues and done the noble deeds of the 
true Christian gentleman and shepherd, 
never slighting the lowly, never hurting 
the weak, never despising the disagreea- 
ble, his venerated body was buried. 

Now this William of Wykeham' s name 
has come down to us along with a particu- 
lar aphorism or maxim which, when the 
Heralds granted him family arms, he 
chose for his own seal and motto. From 
him it has gone out to be a kind of educa- 
tional watch-word. It reads, " Manners 1 , 
maketh man." We may well enough take 
the account of its adoption given by two 
authorities of high position, that he was 
conscious how much he owed in his own 



) 



extraordinary advancement to "his deli- 
cate attention to the Feelings of others," 

and that " it was his intention to inculcate 

ih«' principle that man's success and esti- 
mation, even in this world, depend not 
on his birth, or his fortune, or his talents, 
bnl on his conduct and moral worth." 
One of them* quaintly adds — what these 
Keble graduates before me will not B 
to bear — that we must not infer ignorance 
from the seeming ungrammatical form of 
the "manners makyth man/' "for that 
our ancestors, like the Greeks, put a sin- 
gular verb to a plural neuter substantive." 

"Little corn bat craggs and stones 
Maketh pilgrims :es." 

Ii is now five years— how short they 
have beenl since some of you heard me 
say something hereabout " Good Talking 

a Fine Art" 1 have now something to 

say to you about GFood Manners a Fine and 

■ul An. The subject, in itself at least, 

suits you and me. We must try first to 

icf fnstice Campbell and Edward I 

the I: 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 9 

see as clearly as we can what we mean by 
manners. 

In their birth-place, their purpose, their 
uses and their ends, these two Arts, Talk- 
ing and Manners, are not far apart. They 
differ in their instruments. But both are 
only outward expressions of what is with- 
in us ; both convey thought, disclose feel- 
ing, communicate ideas, publish hidden 
moods of the mind, uncover character, 
just as much as letters, books, orations, 
sermons or comedies. Both are delicate 
or coarse, well-bred or vulgar, attractive 
or repulsive, true or false. Each is a lan- 
guage, i. e., a sign of something that is of 
the intellectual and unseen part. We re- 
veal our secrets, we teach, we make love, 
we flatter, we scold, we tell lies, with our 
manners. We persuade or provoke, we 
make friends and make enemies by man- 
ners. What is in the heart comes out by 
manners ; and what is not in the heart, but 
only in the calculation, or craft, or dry 



I GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 



phosphorescence of til* 4 brain, may come 
nut too. It will be so, young women, 
with every one of you. We are dealing 

not only with an expression but a power. 
Is it not as well worth while, then, to 

study a little this speech, which is not 
speech of tongue or lip, as to study conic 

sections <>r the scanning of a Latin satire? 
[f there is an ode, an eclogue, a lyric, an 
II Penseroso or U Allegro in you whom I 
live with or meet at parties, that is what 1 
want to know: and if you will not recite 
or sing it I will watch you and see it in 
your manners if I can. In the diversity of 
organs employed then- is a great advant- 
age in manners over conversation. Talk 
is a monoglott ; it may range, to be sure, 
through a variety of tones, accents and 
all the notes of the vocal scale, yet it 
speaks by a voice and nothing else. But 
the instruments of manners are a whole 
orchestra, taking in and combining every 
limb and joint, every posture and muscle, 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART, n 

every turn and line of the entire compli- 
cated, marvelous making-up of your frame. 
Manners are possible only by tlie body ; 
they are conditioned, shaped, spaced by it. 
All the more sacredly is the body to be es- 
teemed and kept in its best estate for this 
high intellectual and social service. What 
right has an artist to harden his clay, or 
overload his brush, or cloy his chisel, or 
soften the bow of his violin % In some 
subtle way your body is to your soul what 
pipes and strings are to musicians, what 
stone and glass and lime are to architects, 
what pigments and pencil were to the fa- 
ces of Titian's portraits or the hands of 
Copley's. How to work these tools, how 
to harmonize or contrast these bodily ma- 
terials, how to liberate, move or fix them, 
so that the significant action or equally 
significant repose of the well-mannered 
lady or gentleman, the dignity or grace, 
the embodied ease or strength, may ap- 
pear — this is your Art. Garth Wilkinson, 



i • >0D MANNERS A FINE ART. 

In his quaint, queer book on "The Human 
Body and its Connection with Man," 
says, " Manners are a kind of social - 
whereby our natural barbarity is hidden 
and com] ressed, and the rules that glide 
from man to man fold and wrap individu- 
als into communities, keeping the bui 
of eccentricity leveled down under the 
common tone of the time. The arts that 
beautify our social state live upon these 
bodily capacities of expression," " Gh 
Form," therefore, though the phrase runs 
readily to cant, iscorrecl as to its sense. 
Ihavejusl learned thai there is an Amer- 
ican organized school of ssion, with 
scores of students in twenty-four of our 
States, having publications, meetings, cor- 
respondence, a library and more than a 
dozen departments. Its legend is, "Itis 
the soul thai musl speak." T< ex- 
tent it is an Institute of Manners. The 
names are 
associated w ii ii it. 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 1 3 

Madame de Stael, wliose personality in- 
cluded almost everything that women 
covet and men admire, said once that she 
would surrender all her gifts for the one 
that nature had denied her, beauty. Could 
she not see, with all her singular penetra- 
tion, that fine manners, which she had, are 
in themselves beauty % If she could have 
looked in upon her own reputation, as it 
is now three or four generations after her 
death, how foolish and how fatal that vain 
bargain would have seemed ! Manners are 
more than beauty. They are made by the 
personal will, as facial beauty is not, and 
you are answerable for the making. They 
are a greater factor, too, in the welfare of 
the world. They are in their perversion a 
greater agency for mischief. Made a 
traitor to the moral law, made a mask for 
interior deformity, they are more danger- 
ous than the handsomest countenance. 
Wilkes, the ugliest man of his day in 
England, was notoriously successful in 



i GOOD MANNERS A / / \ E ART. 

winning tin 4 confidence of women. Yon 
look in on a brilliant evening party of 
well-bred people. Wereallthe men and 
women there handsome it would be to 
your eyes a gallery of faces and nothing 
more. Asi1 is, ii isa living revelation, a 
school, a tournament, a discipline of life. 

You will think very likely of the sts 
and you will ask whether manners, then, 
are histrionic and society a theater; whether 
Art has so descended from its dignity as 
to be artificial. There is no harm in ad- 
mitting that some of the elements of good 
manners are those of good play-acting. 
Certainly the physical implement is in 
each the same. I'm that only is perfect 
acting where the actor not only copies the 
dramatic character but is the character, 
not only imitates the person represented, 
but for the time being, in consciousness or 
passion, losing sight and thought of self, 
becomes thai person. Dramatic skill and 
success are reached exactly in proportion 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 15 

as the imitation passes out of the sphere 
and impression of imitation, in both per- 
former and spectator ; nature regains her 
own place ; the mimetic effort vanishes ; 
u there's no illusion here ;" Portia and 
Miranda and Jessica are not fac similes 
any more, but originals, and we are with 
them at the Ducal Venetian Palace, in 
Prospero's cell on the Island, or where 
" the moonlight sleeps upon the bank" at 
Belmont. Thus the law is not broken that 
the manner of the man or woman tells 
what the man or woman is; u what man- 
ner of man or woman " we say. Orlando's 
brother might have said truly enough that 
"all the men and women are only players," 
if he had left out the sarcasm, and had 
only meant that their conduct towards one 
another is a picture- work of the sympathies 
and antipathies actually alive within them. 
Go a little deeper down. At the root of 
them manners signify respect for some- 
thing — I think reverence for some person. 



>/> MANNERS .! FINE . 



tn nearly every nation and bribe on earth 
there are deferential gestures and obei- 
sances towards a rea] or Ideal superiority. 
Some kind of Bupposed rank, station, 
merit, receives tokens of homage. True, 
the objecl of this homage may be abort as 
contemptible in itself as so mnch mortal 
avoirdupois can be, as in the case of the 
lazy husband of the South Seas, whose 
bevy of worshipping wives never move in 
his presence except as they shuffle about 
on their distorted knees ; yet this slavish- 
ness hardly contradicts the radical original 
idea. In spite of all the degradations of 
ii the undying law works on, that the 
outward man must always confess some 
excellence, power, title, beyond what the 
man can claim for himself, challenging 
tokens of honor. In this view what we 
call good manners would be a kind of nat- 
ural outcome of veneration. We repub- 
licans find our loyally in mankind at la 
and so we pay our mannerly tribute to one 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART, 17 

another. The Christian republican will 
pay it to the weakest and poorest and 
meanest of his kind, because the divine 
stamp is set there. I remember my sur- 
prise and the good it did me, long ago, 
when I was led to the house of a country 
gentleman who had in him several sorts of 
superiority, and noticed that, along with 
everything else admirable in his bearing, 
he politely thanked his coachman for 
handing him the whip. If you follow the 
philosophy far enough you may find that 
in the logic of our humanity this Fine Art 
has its origin somewhere in the region of 
religion. I am not quite ready to put it 
as Touchstone does. You remember his 
argument: "If thou never saw'st good 
manners then thy manners must be wicked, 
and wickedness is sin, and sin is damna- 
tion." But I took pains the other day to 
examine in a manual of devotion a list of 
forty-eight printed questions prepared 
strictly for religious self-examination in 



MANNERS A 11 XI 

one's closet, and l found thai seventeen of 
them point directly to Eaults which are rio- 
lations of fine manners between man and 
man, or man and woman, or woman and 
woman. In the mythologies yon find the 
manners of the gods arc not better than 
those of the better class of the worship- 
ers. Olympus or AVallialla has just about 
the Btyle of an average Athenian or 
Scandinavian parlor. In Tahiti the gods 
forbid the people to eat certain kinds of 
meat ; it is noticed that those meats winch 
are particularly prohibited to the women 
are those that arc particularly liked by the 
men. In the classical etymology morals 
and manners are interchangeable. In 
Christianity morality is not >< parable from 
faith, and the standard of morals and man- 
ners alike is in Revelation. As 1 have said, 
a bad soul can be disguised by fair seem- 
by fair profession; hut, with those 
people who spend the first half of life try- 
ing to taste all the promiscuous sweets of 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART, 19 



it and the other half in trying to get the 
taste out of their mouth, the manners in 
either half are not likely to be very fine. 

As manners pre-suppose a body, and a 
body under the control of a higher facul- 
ty, so they also pre-suppose society. Their 
beneficence is that they are a medium of 
interchange of what people, at their best, 
require of each other. The vehicle is dig- 
nified by its precious freight of good feel- 
ing. What should we be but brutes with- 
out these interchanges, informations, com- 
fortings, encouragements and entertain- 
ments, passing and repassing, accomplish- 
ing their humane ministry by looks, greet- 
ings, civilities, courtesies ! They are just 
what distinguish a human company from 
a herd of cattle or a flock of fowls. We 
may not be able to reduce them to a sci- 
ence. Lord Chesterfield and the French 
dancing masters and the manuals of polite- 
ness may not have prospered greatly at 
that. Ever since Shakspeare's time there 



GOOD MANNERL J\ 

have been what lie calls "books of good 
manners,' 3 and none better than his own. 
( toe has lately come out which, from what 
I know of the gracious author, the New 
laud Mrs. Sherwood, must be capital. 
I have not dared to read it for fear I should 
borrow or steal too much from it if I did. 
But the real text-book is where two or 
three meet together ; and say what you 
please of the "higher education,' 5 you 
invent nothing higher for the purp 
General Washington, dropping into 
proverbial fashion of his friend Franklin, 
wrote, " Good humor makes one dish of 
meat a feast." God spread the table in 
Eden, and, wherever His children have 
met and saluted and helped each other 
if each esteemed other better than himself, 
the genial festival has gone on. How oth- 
erwise can life be enriched at a cost of 
time and money so lighl i Some of the 
best behaved people you meet never have 
read a book on the subject, or employed al 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 21 

tutor, or been to Paris or even much, to 
dancing school. The lovely thing grew in 
them, and grew in them in three ways — 
by instinct, by observation, by care. But 
consider that even instinct is hereditary, 
and there are generations to come, and to 
them you are accountable. This school is 
kept out-of-doors and in-doors, from land's 
end to land's end, and all the year round ; 
eyesight is cheap ; and in these days of 
universal publicity very few have no 
chance to take lessons. Pains-taking is 
the fair price of everything that brightens 
our dwellings and distinguishes these 
cities and villages from Patagonia, man- 
sion from hut, nay, more — heaven from 
hell. It is the price of all that is noble 
and memorable and dear and immortal. 
You may most economically pay it out 
liberally for good manners. 

You will raise h.ere a question. How 
are we to get this grace if it is to be at- 
tained by pains-taking, and yet if the 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 

charm of it is that it looks as if it came of 
itself 1 How can a social behavior be at 

tlie same time natural and conventional, 
unstudied and yet the fruit of study, self- 
forgetful and yet an effect of self-disci- 
pline ? It seems like a contradiction. But 
the knot is untied when we see how con- 
stantly and in how many ways, if we let 
things absolutely alone and stop thinking, 
we get away from nature instead of stay- 
ing like docile and obedient children at her 
side or at her feet ; and then, if we are to 
be strong and pure and wise and healthy, 
we have to make some effort to get back 
to her, severe and unsparing mother as 
she is. Nature is God's daughter, but so- 
ciety as it grows ambitious is apt to run 
away from her. "All we, like silly sheep, 
have gone astray." What, for instance, 
ia more natural than a liking for bright 
colors? But nature does not put bright 
colon all over her; she would tire us to 
death with the glare if she did. To speak 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 23 

as we feel is a gift of nature ; but almost 
the entire value of elocutionary training is 
to bring back the young speaker from 
some false habit or vicious trick in cadence 
or gesticulation, which he has caught by 
bad imitation or a bad model, and to teach 
him to speak as his Maker meant him to 
speak. Having got out of the right path 
by carelessness or crude conceits we must 
go about schooling ourselves patiently and 
intelligently to find the way home. The 
same problem in bodily action for intel- 
lectual and passional expression was 
solved by Garrick and Mrs. Siddons. Go 
with them to their studies and you will 
find that the one supreme object of all their 
drill was to learn first how nature herself, 
unperverted and unspoiled and unhin- 
dered in all her free and royal impulsions, 
would say and do the very things which 
they in their i l characters " were set to say 
and to do. You will see that the measure 
of their ability to do that before all audi- 



)0D MANNERS A FINE ART. 

ences, of all nationalities, was precisely 
the measure of their power and fame. In 
the long run it will be reality that tells 
and wins and satisfies ; nothing else. Peo- 
ple have agreed upon certain k% conven- 
tion^/ ' It is in doubtful taste and perhaps 
useless to defy them. Let a wiser future 
mend them as soon as it can. There are 
those of both sexes, we must admit, who 
have practiced so adroitly this conven- 
tional etiquette that they execute their 
perpetual dissemblings successfully. They 
wear their masks so well that the mimicry 
of their urbane masquerade as they walk 
t hn ►ugh the world escapes detection. Lord 
Byron says in one of his letters, I think, 
that the most complete gentleman he ever 
met in his life picked his pocket. But the 
counterfeits do not discredit the genuine 
thing. Be your own detective and arrest 
yourself firsl oi all. Be sure of it, there 
can be no good manners but honest man- 
ners. No other "makythman" or woman. 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 25 

But you can have courtesy and sincerity 
both together. When the Duchess of 
Sutherland came late, having kept the 
court waiting, the Queen, who was always 
vexed by tardiness, presented her with her 
own watch, laying the chain gently around 
her neck and remarking, "I am afraid 
yours does not keep good time." All the 
hollow-hearted queens and kings in the 
palaces of Fashion will not disturb that 
Throne of Judgment which casts its shad- 
ow upon all the parlors and pageants upon 
earth. You will behave well enough if, 
using your wits and your observation, you 
thoroughly believe with the Poet Lau- 
reate : 

" Howe'er it be, it seems to me 
'Tis only noble to be good ; 
Kind hearts are more than coronets 
And simple faith than Norman blood.' 7 

And yet the " Norman blood" is not to 
be despised if it has in it the courtesy of a 
hundred generations. With more of that 



GOOD MANNERS A FIXE ART. 

music in them Tennyson's own manners 
might be more like his rersi 

Coming now to dangers— two opposite 
enemies to the besl behavior are fright and 

frivolity. No creator of awkward embar- 
-ments is more effectual than self-alarm. 
The more anxiously we are afraid of blun- 
dering the more fatally certain blundering 
is. Our anxiety to make the right move- 
ment ties and tangles us up as 

11 The dread of silence makes us mute." 

More than half of us would do the right 
thing in unaccustomed and trying circum- 
stances if we were not occupied and pes- 
tered with apprehensions of doing the 
wrong thing. I have a r I friend in 

the ministry who, having heard al a tea 
table a ludicrous anecdote of an inverted 
reading of a text in Isaiah, and finding 
that very text in the Lesson appointed to 
be read thai evening, worried himself into 
a panic lesl he should repeal the absurdity, 
and actually pulled himseli straight into 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 27 

the trap that lie had thus set. How would 
it do to forget yourself ? That is good re- 
ligion, and it is one of the surest rules for 
the collectedness of good breeding. Look 
at the etymology of the word ' ' composed. ' ' 
There is no estimating the convenience of 
self-possession. There may be excessive 
self-assertion — a blemish ; but then you 
will not " possess" yourself; you fancy 
you possess more than yourself, and pos- 
sess less. How to lay hold of this nicely 
balanced " composure" is one of the se- 
crets of your Art. For hints, I should say, 
See what the ends of social life are, and 
that they are not your own figure or repu- 
tation or popularity or praise. (Have some 
earnest pursuit aud some convictions of 
your own to lift you out of the low level 
of trifles and to impart solid self-respect to 
your habitual mood) Recall what Wick- 
ham said of the life-long advantages to him 
I of "a delicate attention to the feelings of 
pothers." Reflect, being a Christian, that 



1 MANNERS A FINE ART. 

Gtod la as merciful and protectingly | 

en1 in a pariy as in a closet. Taste the 
satisfaction of warding off mortifications 
and covering ap mistakes for persons of im- 
perfect culture or experience about yon. 

rer, if you can help it, be in a hurry. 
Make it a distinct object to lend a little 
pleasure to those in the room who are the 
least noticed or likely to have a dull e 
ning ; that will reassure you if you are 
yourself embarrassed. Take into your mind 
the sure fact, partly consoling if also 
partly humiliating, that no one person and 
no one person's mistakes can be actually 
of much concern to any body day after to- 
morrow. This does not mean that you 
should cringe, creep, or apologize tor not 
being like somebody else instead of being 
yourself, or go about with Uriah Heep 

ring every body's pardon 1'or taking 
the liberty of being in the world. It means 
rather unassuming manhood, unaffected 
womanhood. Imagine simply what in the 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 2<j 

brotherhood and sisterhood of mankind con- 
duct ouglit to be. You know you ought to 
be friendly, kindly, modest, clean, gentle, 
considerate towards all people. Be that, 
and with a moderate share of direct pains 
about them your manners will take care 
of themselves. Drink in as much as possi- 
ble of the common human spirit, and let it 
use and manage you. A common duty to 
the common interest for a common end — 
this is the safe thought. And then, apart 
from the good given and received by indi- 
viduals, there will be besides, what there 
ought also to be, a glow of rational pleas- 
ure which comes by the luster and mel- 
ody, the cheer and grace, of the whole 
scene itself, as a composite artistic work — 
the delight of a realized human picture, a 
moving procession where certain required 
and yet voluntary acts of courtesy and 
homage fill out the hours, relieve the task- 
work, lighten some loads, and render one 
little section of the world a bit less gossip- 



GOOD M \ ART, 

lug. Less dull and Less mean than it was 
before. 

Few gentlemen in our day have moved 
more constantly in the best social groups 
than sir Henry Taylor, the author of 
Philip Van Artevelde. In his recent auto- 
biography I find this confession-— that his 
extreme fastidiousness and anxiety about 
manners made him slfy— " as shy as if in 
a pre-existent state his soul had been a 
wild duck." He remarked wittily of an 
Archbishop of Dublin, that " the next 1 
thing to a perfect manner is no manner at 
all, and that this next besl thing was what 
the Archbishop had." "Good manners," 
says Swift, k * is the art of making those 
People easy with whom we co 
Whoever makes the fewesl people uneasy 
is t lie best bred in company." "Hail, ye 
small, sweel courtesies of Life!" exclaims 
Sterne, " for smooth do ye make the n 
of it, like grace and beamy, which h 
inclination^ to love at first sighl : 'tis 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 3* 

who open the door and let the stranger in. ' ' 
Probably the worst manners in the world 
are those of persons conscious of being be- 
neath their position and trying to conceal 
it or make up for it by style. We feel no 
contempt for a born and grown-up barba- 
rian. None but fools and under -bred boys 
and girls laugh at rustics who are not 
ashamed of their rusticity. Genuineness 
is respectable anywhere even though it is 
awkward, does not know what to do with 
the napkin, drinks out of the finger-bowl, 
sits down while the host stands, or wonders 
whether the Governor at his reception 
knows that "the pudding (in the ice cream 
dish) has froze." The stories told of Rob- 
ert Burns in the Edinborough drawing- 
rooms, and of Ethan Allen, the valiant 
Vermonter, eating olives for the first time 
at a lunch, take nothing whatever from 
the respect due to the poet or the fighter. 
What you have a right to despise is the 
jnan dwarfed by his carriage and coach- 



GOOD MANNERS A FIXE ART. 

man, the woman dodging behind her fur- 
niture. I would much rather breakfast 
with an Onondaga Indian than with a 
village nabob who scowls at his wife aci 
the table because the toast is burned, or 
with the wife who pokes her little girl un- 
der the table, or jerks the boy's bib. A 
first principle in all style is fitness. So 
that your neighbor has sense enough to 
know pretty nearly what he is and de- 
serves, without imagining that money and 
equipage will veneer and varnish his defi- 
ciencies, and so that his wife bears herself 
with brave contentment and simple sweet- 
ness in her lot, you will not sneer at them, 
unless you are unworthy to live at their 
side. 

"With every pleasing, every prudent part, 

what can Chloe want ? She wants a heart. 
She speaks, behaves and acts just as she ought, 
Bat never, never reached one generous thought. 
Chloe is prudent; would you too be wi>e? 
Then never break your heart when Chloe dies." * 

11 To Martha Blount." 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 33 

It seems to be a reasonable expectation 
of mankind that as people improve in their 
external fortunes and opportunities they 
will be humanized in their deportment. 
One of the inhumanities is boisterous lev- 
ity. When Dr. Johnson went down to 
Oxford for the first time his comment was, 
"This merriment among persons is mighty 
offensive." I find it a great refreshment 
in railroad traveling to get out of a car 
where a gang of giggling girls amaze their 
betters by ceaseless cachinnation and hoy- 
denish pushings and snatchings, pitiable 
witnesses against their mothers and their 
modesty, and to go and sit down by a back- 
woodsman from Michigan in a flannel 
jacket and cow-hide boots who either holds 
his tongue or speaks in a low voice and 
with no movement, as he would to the 
heifer that his daughter milks. The other 
day I was made an enforced and reluctant 
partner, between Syracuse and Auburn, to 
the publishing of all the household gossip 



34 GOOD MANNERS A FINK ART. 



in both places known to two handsomely 
dressed housekeepers, sitting two or three 
seats away, till I felt half guilty for hear- 
ing so much, and altogether ashamed of 
them for respecting themselves so little. 

There is the further offence of curiosity. 
When w r e go out we do not throw all our 
private property into common stock. Ac- 
cepting an invitation we do not surrender 
ourselves to be catechized or cross-exam- 
ined. I suppose I may question my neigh- 
bor as to his domestic or personal affairs 
just so far as it will be likely to gratify 
him to tell me about them ; the rest is for- 
bidden ground and the gate is shut. It is 
reasonable to infer that persons in a public 
hall or a church w r ho turn about their heads 
to investigate every unusual sound, or to 
scrutinize faces and dresses, have vacant 
minds. A blunt clergyman who observed 
that habit in his congregation paused a 
moment and announced that if the people 
would keep their positions and look straight 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 35 

forward he would for their information call 
off the names of the tardy worshipers as 
they came in. I spoke of railroad man- 
ners. Music-Hall manners fall into the 
same category. Not long ago in one of 
our cities, Theodore Thomas, standing on 
the platform in the midst of a symphony, 
stopped his whole orchestra and, turning 
to the audience, said quietly, "We are 
afraid the music will interrupt the conver- 
sation." In an auditorium every person 
present enters into a contract with all the 
rest and with the performers, no less than 
with the proprietor whom he pays for his 
ticket. We are there for a common object 
which allows of no conversational privi- 



leges among a group of intimate fr^ 
no staring or whispering or 
flirting, or other usurpations. 



no staring or whispering or shuffling" rJr^-^^-* 



Lrang, or oiner usurpations. -▼• nr •^v -y 
So in household hospitality. Yo^y areVj^,/ _j 
bidden guest. For the time being you are, 
in that character, to be put at ease as if tnter "*^ 
house were yours, made comfortabtojjeiesg* v? viT*J 

OF THE 




cu oid i j 






han in I The 

family yen a unit. 

if there were wars wi ,-lv. 

your coi a proclamation oi trace. 

this armistice is disturbed by a sharp 

ate, what on earth can the guest do? 

He is neither combatant nor umpire. He 

not asked in as an ally by either 

y. He is under a cross lire and has 
no permission to go out of doors or hide 
under the table, lie i- "-hut up" in 
more senses than one, and even the quarrel 
oi' his jaile] him out. AYhen 

a gentleman is leading you across his lawn 
you hardly expect him to have a em utile 
with the gardener. If you are the] 

• plain to you , that you are 

tncerned to hear what he is saying 

than with the arrangement of the table. 

Contrive to edge in all the little 

tions as dishes at the 

aks and s the conversation, 

rather than thrust them i n unfinished 



GOLD MANNERS A Fi'NE ART, . 37 

anecdote or piece of description. Above 
all, never discuss your cook 01; apologize 
for her failures, unless it can be done as a 
jest that casts the blame upon yourself. 
What can I possibly say or do about it, 
sitting helpless before you, if you inform 
me that the soup is burnt or the bread 
heavy? I knew it before. A side skir- 
mish with the children, a tilt between two 
of them, their impertinent loquacity, a 
dialogue with the waiter, are about as bad. 
In one of the charming numbers of Mr. 
Ruskin's "Fors Clovigera" is this pass- 
age, touching his childhood: "For be- 
ginning of all blessings I had been taught 
the perfect meaning of peace, in thought, 
act, word. I never had heard my father's 
or mother's voice in any question with 
each other, or seen any anger or even 
slightly offended glance in the eyes of 
either. I had never seen a servant scolded 
or even suddenly, passionately, or in any 
severe manner blamed. I had never seen 



OD MANNERS A FINE AA 

disorder in any family matter, or anything 
not done ip due time. Next to this J had 
received a perfecl understanding of the 
nature of obedience and faith. Nothing 
was ever promised me thai was not given, 
nothing ever threatened that was not in- 
flicted, nothing ever told me that was not- 
true. Peace, obedience, faith — these for 
chief good:' ' He goes on : % k I was taught 
no precision or etiquette of manners. It 
was enough if in the little society we saw I 
remained unobserved, and replied to a 
question without shyness. The shyness 
came later and increased, and I found it 
impossible to acquire in advanced life dex- 
terity in any bodily exercise. M It ought 
to be thrown in. aside, that Raskin has 
1101 -found it impossible to acquire in ad- 
vanced life" both dexterity and vigor in 
pounding his literary assailant- 

Permit me to exhort you never to in- 
dulge yourselves in the spurious candor of 
that manner which seems to >ay. "I al- 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 39 

ways speak my mind ; whether it is polite 
or not I mean to say just what I think" — 
and this as a prelude to any convenient 
species of impertinence. Speaking your 
mind is well enough provided you are sure 
that your mind is justified in speaking, is 
fit to speak, or can speak amicably and to 
the purpose at that moment and in that 
place. Rudeness is not to be condoned on 
a plea of sincerity, or audacity on a plea 
of courage. 

One danger more— that of an eager in- 
sistence which overwhelms your friend, 
reducing him to abject and involuntary 
captivity. In the amiable passage-at-arms 
of social intercourse, as in the old tourna- 
ments, it is a prime rule of chivalry to 
give the other party fair play. When, in 
the friendly fence of talk, you cut in upon 
your companion's unfinished statement, 
you rob him of his right. So easi- 
ly are we tempted to this exaspera- 
ting trick of interruption that it would 



)D AfAA ' ' i 



client to establish, at the board- 
school meal-times, not only a table for 
Gterman and French and Spanish, but a 
table where every pupil shall have always 
finished what she has to say before another 
ins. One kind of greediness i^> as bad 
as another, in their ethical education the 
Greeks made place for "the .becomi] 
or suitable as well as for "the good and 
true." Imogen replies to Cloten, in^Cyni- 
beline," 

"I am much sorry, sir, 
You put me to forget a lady's manners 
By I eing so verbal." 

I would rather go without my second cup 
of coffee than have my little story or quo- 
tation spoilt by an inquiry whether the 
first eiq> is out jerked into the midst 
Southern women are much indebted for 
their acknowledged social charm to this 
art of listening. I> it altogether because 
we men are selfish or vain or exact 
that we return woman whose man- 

ner - 'My time is youra ; what con- 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART, 41 



cerns you concerns me ; if it is your pleas- 
ure to entertain me it is my pleasure to be 
entertained ; other people, other subjects, 
are in abeyance, till you have done." 
Call this flattery, call it courtesy, call it 
altruism, call it benevolence; without the 
spirit that inspires it what a stupidity the 
thing we call social life would be ! 

Of finely-mannered men that I have 
known he whom I am as apt to remember 
as any is Mr. Longfellow, admirable and 
nearly faultless. Beset by people of all 
sorts, socially taxed and teased, besought 
for favors and attentions by neighbors, for- 
eigners, correspondents, callers, invitors, 
club-men, photographers, autograph-hunt- 
ers, and other persecutors permitted by 
Providence to put patience to her perfect 
work, he not only never lost his temper 
but to the least deserving or least agreea- 
ble his urbanity amounted to graciousness. 
One always felt the delicacy of his tastes 
and the keenness of his sense of the ludi- 



D M i vw-.A'.s A FINE ART. 



orous without the slightest sign thai he 
noticed the absence of \h<>>^ traits in those 
who besieged him. It was enough for him 
to know that there was any one near him 
that he could please. One of his friends 
said of him, " In his modesty and benevo- 
lence I am reminded of what Pope said of 
Gorth, 'lie is the best of Christians with- 
out knowing it.'" When a Graduating 
( lass in a Girls 5 School in a Western City 
begged him to send a poem for a Closing 
Day, his own account of his answer was, 
"Itriedto say 'no 5 so softly that she 
would think it better than 'yes. 5 One 
day an omnibus full of utter strangers dis- 
charged itself at his door. He entertained 
them for an hour with his charming atten- 
tion^. An awkward woman asked for "a 
dipper of water,' 5 and. slipping, spilled 
some of it on the lioor, and then wanted to 
wipe it up. He only said with piteous 
gentleness, "O, no matter about the water 
if you have nol hurt yourself. 55 He once 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 43 



declared that lie tingled all over with in- 
dignation at the beastly conduct of a dis- 
tinguished man of letters to an inferior, 
and this man a Frenchman in Paris ! 
Sending a bit of comfort to a family in 
great trouble he soliloquized, " There 
goes a gleam of sunshine into a dark house, 
which is always pleasant to think of." 

So we have been led up to the loftier 
heights of what might seem a plain theme. 
Perhaps society as such has not been seen 
in more splendid intellectual or material 
radiance anywhere than among the men 
and women of ' ' Norman blood ' ' who 
moved about the French Court a century 
ago, before the Revolution. What remains 
of that grandeur, the abiding glory, is in 
such characters as those of Madame 
Neckar and the man she married. Of her 
it is written, " No woman thought less of 
herself than she." Amidst such fascina- 
tions and distractions as have turned ten 
thousand clear heads she gave up herself 






and her t£m 

daughter, to the poor, i i \'<>v household 
duties, and then to I . company and 

her It; Of the husband Madame 

\)i- Stae] -.i\ s, " I li; m him remain 

motionless by his wife is her sickness for 
hours together, standing and without 
changing his position for fear of wafc 
her by I jhtest movement.' 3 No man- 

ners better than these ! 

How the Fine Arts run into one anoth 
Here are statues, buildings, paintib 
music, — form, color and sound-, yel we 
say "Bright music,' 3 "harmonious archi- 
!^•e. ,, "tender sen!; 
. taking all the terms together, Bright, 
harmonious, tender manners. May no 
body ever say of j ours, Florid, or hard, or 
loud manners ! Beware of the "under- 
breeding of <■: the florid! Beware 
of the mis-breeding of selfish pride, the 
hard ! Beware of the nobreeding-at-all 
of loose vulgaril v. the Loud I 



GOOD MANNERS A FINE ART. 45 

My last word to you must have joy in it. 
Go to your waiting work with hope. 
Wordsworth says, "We live by admira- 
tion, hope and love/ 5 He leaves out faith ; 
but faith is hopeful, and hope is charita- 
ble, and charity is joyful. Manners are 
iiot good till they have in them a touch of 
the sun' s light. ' ' Her face was a perpet- 
ual daybreak :" what finer thing did a poet 
ever say of a woman's looks \ Many tell 
you, I know, that Fine Arts are sometimes 
tragical, stained with blood, wringing out 
tears. God give you faith for pain when 
it comes, and that will be soon enough ! 
But we are not sent to make human homes 
tearful, or common life tragical. " I pray 
thee, dear wife, be merry in God ;" so 
wrote, on the eve of his unrighteous exe- 
cution, grand Sir Thomas More, High 
Chancellor a century after William Wick- 
ham, and his peer in ways with men, of 
whose administration of justice on the 
Bench it is recorded that " The meaner 



>0D MANNERS i / T. 

the supplianl was, the more affably he 
would speak to him and the mo] 'lily 

he would dispatch his cause/ 5 and of 
whose home the Reformer Erasmus wrote 
In one of his epistles, "He loveth his 
wife as if she was a girl of fifteen." 
finer manners than these I 

In all our veins Norman Mood and Brit- 
ish Mood have been slow in mixing, for 
a thousand years. But here, mi west- 
• rn ground, with the sea between, you will 
'lie better and thestrongerif you blend 
the cheerfulness of ili<^ sunny sky over the 
one with the steadfastness of the rocky 
Id under the other. Bach one 

•1 >o thou fulfill in perfect gracious \\ 
The old ideal of true womanhood, — 

lit with the honor of a noble soul, 
1'ure with the lilies life, 

et with the perfume of love's kino 
Grand with the steadfast pui the right, 

And good with G< blessing over all." 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS 






LOVE AND FORGIVENESS 

REFLECTIONS 

SUGGESTED BY 

"THE GREATEST THING IN THE 
WORLD" 

THIS 

translates from t\)t ffienttan \/ ( J 

IS THE 

* PROPERTY 

OF THE 
^osTor |itpf| ?fof/i 

7N, A 
1891 



II is 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND C0MP7 11 JlUut" 




Copyright, 1801, 
Little, Brown, and Company, 



JElnibcrsito }3rrss : 
John WlLSOM and Son, Cambridge. 



i 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 



I. 

Henry Drummond has unfolded to us 
Ivith inspiring power " the greatest thing 
jjn the world." With a profound knowledge 
of human nature, the unknown author of 
' We and the Greatest Thing in the World "■ 
las used the torch offered him by the 
iScotch teacher to illuminate the deepest 
■recesses of the human heart and con- 
sciousness, and, through illustrations from 
gdaily life, to bring Henry Drummond's 
more general exhortation unavoidably 
near to every one. 

Now in all modesty, we should like to 
propose the question, To whom is this the 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 



44 best thing in the world "? In what way 
may the longing heart become possessed 
of the heavenly gift of love? Henry 

Urummund, it is true, in no way neglects 

to touch upon this question. He recalls 
the fact that just as the seven colors in 
the broken ray of light by artificial union 
produce only white, but not light itself, so 
neither is it through persistent striving for 
certain Christian virtues that love is to be 
gained. He declares distinctly that our 
love can alone come from the love of God. 
"Love begets love," he says. "It is 
a process of induction. Put a piece of 
iron in the presence of an electrified 
body, and that piece of iron for a time 
becomes electrified; it changes into a 
temporary magnet in the mere presence 
of a permanent magnet, and as long as 
you leave the two side by side they are 
both magnets alike. Remain side by 
side with him who loved and gave him- 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 



self for us, and you will become a per- 
manent magnet, a permanently magnetic 
force; and like him you will draw all 
men unto you, like him you w T ill be 
drawn unto all men. That is the inevi- 
table effect of love. Any man who 
fulfils that cause must have that effect 
produced in him." 

These words are as beautiful as they 
are true; but it seems to us that they 
only touch upon the question, without 
treating it exhaustively. Even if all 
were granted, and it were so easy to 
keep one's self to the "cause," so sim- 
ple to rest in Jesus, so that through the 
magnetic power of his love our hearts 
too were to become love magnets, — how 
then is it to be explained that Christian 
love is so rarely and with such difficulty 
to be found in the world, in spite of the 
countless ones who long, strive, and pray 
for it? Or is it that the absorption of 



8 LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 

divine love is not possible for every one 
unconditionally? Is not some special 

preparedness necessary, in order that this 
" process of induction ' which Drummond 
speaks of shall take place? The piece 
of iron or steel will indeed become 
magnetic through the touch of a mag- 
net, but it can never convey its power 
to wood, straw, or glass. Shall not a 
similar law in the world of spirit be 
recognized? Must not a certain special 
condition of the heart be the necessary 
preparation for receiving the divine love? 
The answer to this question we seek 
in the Gospel. We find it in the won- 
derfully beautiful parable with which our 
Lord rebukes Simon the Pharisee for his 
complaint of the Master's kindness to 
the sinful woman: — ■ 

11 There was a certain creditor which had 
two debtors : the one owed five hundred pence, 
and the other fifty. And when they had noth- 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 



ing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell 
me, therefore, which of them will love him 
most? Simon answered and said, I suppose 
that he, to whom he forgave most. And he 
said unto him, Thou hast rightly judged. And 
he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, 
Seest thou this woman? I entered into thine 
house, thou gavest me no water for my feet : 
but she hath washed my feet with tears, and 
wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou 
gavest me no kiss : but this woman since the 
time I came in hath not ceased to kiss my feet. 
My head with oil thou didst not anoint : but this 
woman hath anointed my feet with ointment. 
Wherefore I say unto thee, Her sins, which are 
many, are forgiven ; for she loved much : but to 
whom little is forgiven the same loveth little" 1 

This lesson of the Master teaches us 
to recognize an important and funda- 
mental connection between love on the 
one side, and forgiveness on the other. 
Let us try to look into it more deeply. 

1 Luke vii. 41, etc. 



IO LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 



II. 
LOVE AND THE FORGIVENESS OF SIX. 

Love and forgiveness belong together; 
so much seems clear from our Lord's 
words at the first glance. But how are 
we to make this connection real to our 
thought? Who has not at times heard 
emphasized with great unction the words: 
" Her sins, which are many, are forgiven, 
for she loved much." 

Taken out of their connection, they 
are thereby misused to open widely the 
door to righteousness in deeds; and for- 
giveness, instead of being attributed to 
the faith which the woman, humbly trust- 
ing, secures as the merciful gift of divine 
love, is ascribed to her human love, of 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. I I 

which it seems, in a certain sense, to be 
the reward. And yet the next sentence, 
"But to whom little is forgiven, the 
same loveth little," indeed the whole 
connection demands the very opposite in- 
terpretation of these words. Evidently 
our Lord considers the overwhelming 
love which shows itself in the whole 
behavior of the great sinner, not, in- 
deed, as the cause, but rather as the 
proof of the forgiveness which had come 
to her of her many sins; in which we 
must admire the adorable tenderness 
which leads the Healer of hearts to seize 
upon the argument that absolved the 
woman, while he gives to the reproof 
bestowed upon Simon the form of a 
universal lesson. "To whom little is for- 
given the same loveth little." Therefore 
the great sinner was not forgiven because 
she loved much; on the contrary, for the 
reason that so much had been forgiven 



12 LOVE .LVD FORGIVENESS. 

her, does she love, has she been enabled 
to love much. 

The forgiveness of sin is therefore the 
cause, and fow is the ^yY. Another 
similar parable shows that this is our 
Lord's meaning (Matthew viii. 25). The 
servant who has been released from his 
debt of ten thousand pounds finds it at 
once demanded of him again when he 
sternly insists upon the payment of the 
hundred pence which his fellow-servant 
owes him. Love appears here not only 
as the natural, but the necessary and un- 
failing effect of the forgiveness of sins. 
As certain as the fig-tree its fruit, must 
forgiveness bring forth love; and as the 
unfruitful tree is at last cut down, that 
it may not cumber the earth, so is no 
forgiveness genuine — that is to say, it 
loses its validity — if the fruits of love 
do not in their time appear. In their 
time! For we must not forget that in 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 1 3 

the experience of the inner life, as well 
as in the evidences of Nature, everything 
has its time ; that, as the precious parable 
of our Lord in the Gospel of Mark ex- 
plains, the seed after it is put into the 
earth brings forth, first the blade, then 
the ear, and then the full corn in the 
ear. The repentant sinner, therefore, 
does not need to wait for the fulness of 
love in his heart to be sure of the blessed 
forgiveness which he may in and through 
faith possess; but he who in the course 
of time discerns no love within himself, 
if he cannot at once wholly forget and 
forgive an injury done him by others, 
does not feel himself compelled daily to 
struggle and pray for love, and in sin- 
cere repentance to deplore his lack of 
it, — such a one has every reason to in- 
quire searchingly whether or not he has 
indeed received forgiveness. For al- 
though the merciful love of God is 



14 LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 

always rea ly to forgive, and ever dis- 
posed to cover even a multitude of sins, 
he yet cannot admit every one equally 

to a share of forgiveness as he m 
the sun to shine on the just and the 
unjust. Forgiveness demands one in- 
dispensable condition, and this is a heart 
crushed and humbled, that abandons all 
attempt at self-justification, and in full 
trust seizes the saving hand of the Re- 
deemer thus offered him. Forgiveness 
is near to every one that needs it, but 
he alone has the need who knows him- 
self to be a sinner, who discerns his 
weakness and helplessness; and according 
to the degree in which he is conscious of 
his misery will the measure of forgive- 
ness which he must need be granted. 

From this fact we rightly understand 
the meaning of the words, "But to whom 
little is forgiven, the same loveth little." 
They do not mean that God in any way 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. I 5 

is inclined to forgive one sinner less 
than another, or indeed that one is less 
guilty than another. No ; God is always 
ready, out of the inexhaustible riches of 
His mercy, to forgive every one as much 
as he can desire ; and the varying burden 
of sin between individuals is too slight 
to the Searcher of hearts to come into 
consideration. Truly if we were only 
always ready to allow ourselves to be 
forgiven for all our sins, we need never 
fear that the measure of love which, cor- 
responding to the measure of forgive- 
ness, must be its result and effect, could 
ever fall short of our wishes. But alas ! 
how inclined we still are, even if the 
debtor of five hundred pence, to give but 
fifty, because we underestimate our debt; 
and this self-deception is enough to ex- 
plain the want of love which we deplore 
so bitterly, "To whom little is forgiven, 
the same loveth little." 



1 6 LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 

Why is it that we so often fall into 
this fatal mistake, that we deceive our- 
selves so wilfully as to the extent of 
our guilt? We find two causes for this 
phenomenon, which is as sad as it is 
common. 

First, the fruit of self-knowledge is 
likewise subjected to the law of natural, 
gradual development. Especially in fa- 
vorable and sheltered relations, where 
there is but little temptation to the 
grosser sins, where education and good- 
breeding help to keep the heart to a 
certain extent free from moral taint, this 
knowledge comes only very slowly to full 
development. Insight into our own faults 
and weaknesses needs the practice of dis- 
cernment in the school of God. Even 
sincere young Christians may in the be- 
ginning be confused by self-deception as 
to their own hearts. If it is really true 
that only the sick need a physician, and 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. I J 

no one knows fully and blessedly what 
there is for him in Jesus before recog- 
nizing in him the Redeemer of all sin, 
— we must nevertheless not forget that 
there are various degrees of disorder, 
and he who thinks hims.elf attacked by 
some slight illness may equally well turn 
to a physician with the one who feels 
himself sick unto death. Besides, how 
many there are who, though in general 
near to him, do not seek in Jesus the 
physician and saviour, but the skilled 
teacher, and, like Nicodemus, come not 
to be made whole by him, but to seek 
instruction upon ethical or philosophical 
questions, — to whom the solution of the 
problems, death, immortality, the eter- 
nal life, seem for the moment far more 
important than the question of obtaining 
remission of sins. 

We should like to illustrate what has 
just been said from the inner life-expe- 



I 8 LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 

rience of an earnest woman. Even as 

a child she showed a marked interest in 
all religious and metaphysical questions, 
and a surprising predilection for all that 
pertained to these subjects. We had 
once an opportunity of observing her 
when she was about eight years old, as she 
sat lost in meditation over her illustrated 
Bible. She had opened the book at the 
picture of the Good Shepherd bringing 
the lost sheep home on his shoulders, 
and was repeating in a low voice the 
words, "I say unto you that likewise joy 
shall be in heaven over one sinner that 
repenteth, more than over the ninety 
and nine just persons which need no 
repentance." 

The little girl sat long pondering; but 
suddenly we heard her say, "Really I 
should almost like to be a sinner. But," 
she added, "it isn't my fault that 1 
belong among the ninety-nine righteous 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 1 9 

ones." And so was expressed the un 
conscious self-righteousness of this good 
and obedient child, who for the most 
part had always satisfied her parents and 
teachers. When this childish incident 
was recalled after a series of years to the 
mature woman, she said with feeling: 
"That little scene holds the key to the 
whole conduct of my life, both outward 
and inward." She had much to tell of 
the endless patience which God had be- 
stowed upon her, until the conviction at 
last came that she, even she herself, was 
the lost sheep. Through her striving 
after moral perfection it had not indeed 
seemed very difficult to discover some 
of her faults, and to obtain help from 
God to struggle against them. She 
could, however, no more discern the 
boundless corruption of her heart than 
she could the necessity of the new birth 
from above to enlighten her. But the 



20 LOVE AND FORGIVENE 

urgency with which God everywhere em- 
phasizes this first fundamental law of his 
kingdom continually startled her; and as, 
if one is unable to perceive any distant 
object which a trustworthy friend is 
pointing out to him, he does not ques- 
tion the credibility of his friend, but 
rather attributes his not seeing it to his 
own short-sightedness, so she too be- 
gan, with the holy singer, to pray, — 

" Give me eyes myself to see ; 
Touch them with thy power divine. " 

And the Lord granted this prayer. He 
led her, fully trusting, over rough ways; 
he allowed her to fall into harsh and 
unfriendly surroundings, in which her 
natural capacity -for love and amiability 
did not hold good, but broke down fa- 
tally. Here the thirteenth chapter of 
the first epistle to the Corinthians had 
to serve as a mirror to her self-conscious- 
ness; and feeling bitterly the loveless- 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 21 

ness and selfishness of her own heart, 
she knew herself at last to be the lost 
sheep. This inward development had to 
go on long, very long; but she learned 
finally to value even this slowness as a 
gift of God. If at one glance she could 
have seen the whole extent of her sin- 
fulness, before she had learned at all 
times to seek and find refuge in Christ, 
she would perhaps have fallen into de- 
spair. Only he who clings for defence 
to the ready forgiveness of sin in Christ, 
can look undismayed into the abyss of 
his own heart. 

This brings us to the second thing that 
may interrupt and hinder our progress in 
self-knowledge. Sometimes our faith in 
the all-forgiving love of God in Christ 
is not in real earnest. We believe in- 
deed that he is ready to forgive us fifty 
but not five hundred pence, and try to 
rate our sin accordingly before him and 



LOVE AND FORGIVENE SS. 



to ourselves. The inner connection be- 
tween consciousness of sin and faith in 
the forgiveness of sin is more important 
than is commonly supposed; only he 

who has conviction of the entire ful- 
ness of the latter desires to penetrate to 

the very depths of the former. If a fool- 
ish son should anxiously conceal his 
debts from his father, he will also care- 
fully avoid even thinking of them, in 
order to escape the wearing anxiety as 
to how they are to be paid. If, how- 
ever, the father kindly calls his son and 
offers to cancel all his debts, will he 
not thereby get courage to lay before 
his father all his difficulties? Will he 
not take pains to recall every debt, the 
smallest as well as the greatest, so that 
not a single one shall remain unpaid, to 
be reminded of afterwards? And even 
if this is not true of earthly relations, 
since unfortunatelv there are too often 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 2$ 

sons who withhold a part of their debts 
from the fatherly forgiveness, whether 
it is that their pride hinders them from 
making a full confession, or whether 
their trust in the fatherly love is not 
sufficient, the parallel is all the better 
adapted for the application of forgiveness 
and consciousness of sin, as every living 
Christian will testify from his own ex- 
perience. The deepening of the con- 
sciousness of sin goes hand in hand with 
the growth of faith in the forgiveness 
of sin; and so gradually the so-called 
"moral" man, whose life has never con- 
flicted with law or custom or propriety, 
comes, in the light of the spirit and 
word of Christ, to the consciousness that 
even his debts amount, not to fifty, but 
five hundred pence, and to him not a 
little must be forgiven, but much. 

But that he to whom much is pardoned 
loves more than he to whom little is for- 



2 | LOVE AN1 j FORGIVENI 

given, even the Pharisee finds quite natu- 
ral; without hesitation he answers our 
Lord's question to this effect. It dawns 
upon the natural, healthy, human intel- 
ligence that the self-evident result of 
the pardon of sin must be love, in spite 

of experience teaching US that this is 
not always proved in daily life. But the 
causes of these deviations are SO clear in 
most cases that the validity of the rule 
is not weakened by such exceptions. 
Apart from special enormities of in- 
gratitude, we shall find, every time 
when forgiveness is not rewarded by 
love, that it happened in some loveless, 
irritating way, that loving-kindness had 
not been the motive-power which touched 
the believer to gentleness, that he is either 
disposed to boast of his good deeds, or 
from indolence, to spare himself weari- 
some perplexity, he refuses to face the 
whole extent of his sins, which, more- 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 2$ 

over, seems to him hopeless. That such 
cold and repelling methods may arouse 
irritation instead of love, is comprehen- 
sible. But he who gives love will al- 
most always receive it ; and if that is 
true among weak and sinful men, how 
much more true of the God who is Love, 
of the forgiveness which forever receives 
confirmation in Christ's words when he 
explains the conversion of the man who 
at first would have the delinquent ser- 
vant sold, and then, at his entreaty, re- 
leases him of his debt of ten thousand 
pounds. "Then," it is written, "the lord 
of that servant was moved with compas- 
sion. " And he into whose heart this 
" compassion" does not fall like a live 
spark to kindle it into a flame of love 
is as yet wholly unable to receive for- 
giveness, because he still carries in his 
bosom a heart of stone, not yet capable 
of any sense of longing for forgiveness. 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 

The whole depth of mercy and bound- 
less h>vc contained in this "was moved 
to compassion," we can indeed only grad- 
ually comprehend. It is difficult for us 

to understand, as the apostle says, "the 
breadth and the length, the height and 

the depth," of this divine mercy and 
love. For even as children, it was a 
familiar saying to us that God is Love, 
that he forgives sins; and it seemed to 
us as self-evident as the light of the 
sun, as the roaring of the storm, or fall- 
ing of the rain. Even later in life the 
words had no surprise for us; habit had 
blunted us against the wonder and mys- 
tery of them. And yet, if we are to 
taste the full joy of forgiveness, an hour 
must come to every one in which this 
great love of God is revealed, when be- 
fore this " compassion" he must sink in 
prayer upon his knees and cry, — 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 2 J 

" Mercy has returned to me, 
Love of which I am not worth, 
That count I as a miracle." 

If this divine revelation possesses a man, 
if he, in spite of the joyful faith in 
which he seizes the proffered forgive- 
ness, can scarcely believe that his sin is 
really blotted out and wholly pardoned, 
knows that this forgiveness springs from 
the unfathomable love of God, who " is 
filled with compassion for his servant," 
when, out of the blessed certainty of 
reconciliation with him, his soul is filled 
with peace, then must love bloom natu- 
rally in his heart, which, in grateful, 
adoring surrender to God, finds its high- 
est blessedness. 

And yet even this love — and we may 
take this for our comfort — is an organic 
growth, which develops slowly and grad- 
ually out of an invisible germ. Not 
alone does the natural man come as a 



28 LOVE AND FORGIVENl 

helpless infant into the world, but he 

too who is born from above must pass 

through all stages of development, from 

weak infancy to manhood. To reach in 

fulness and warmth the point expiv 
by the Psalmist in the words "Whom 
have I in heaven but thee? and there is 
none upon earth that I desire beside 
thee," may indeed demand a lifetime. 
Very few, in fact, even among ripe 
Christians, can say these words with a sin- 
cere heart. Shall we therefore despair? 
Far from it. Mourn we must that our 
love remains so far short of this stand- 
ard. Again and again will this knowl- 
edge fill us with a fresh consciousness 
of sin that brings us to the feet of Jesus 
to learn there to seek forgiveness, and 
in forgiveness love; but we are not 
therefore to lose courage. So long as 
from the depths of our hearts we can 
say, "When thy face does not shine, 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 2g 

nothing that all heaven and earth can 
offer will satisfy me. When I possess 
not thy love, there is no enduring bless- 
ing," — so long as we feel thus, we may 
be certain that our love is in the way of 
right development, that He who has be- 
gun the good work will in His time fulfil 
it, and that our weak love must some 
day grow strong and deep enough to let 
us say, "Whom have I in heaven but 
thee? and there is none upon earth that 
I desire beside thee." 



SO LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 



III. 

THE LOVE OF GOD AND THE LOVE 
OF OUR NEIGHBOR. 

We have just seen how the love of 
God grows out of the forgiveness of 
sin. It remains now for us to explain 
to ourselves in what way the love of 
our neighbor, too, "the greatest thing 
in the world," as Henry Drummond calls 
it, springs from the same root. 

The inward connection between the 
love of God and brotherly love is 
referred to on almost every page of 
the New Testament. Everywhere, in the 
words of our Lord, as well as in the 
teachings of his apostles, the one with- 
out the other is held to be an impos- 
sibility, — not in the sense, let it be 



■ 



LGVE AND FORGIVENESS. 3 1 



understood, that brotherly love is the 
source from which flows the divine, but 
rather that the two stand in the same 
inseparable union as heat with fire, light 
with the sun. Without heat, no fire; 
without light, no sun; without brotherly 
love, no divine love. That is so certain 
that the former may serve as a gauge 
by which to measure the latter, as the 
Apostle John declares in terrible ear- 
nest when he writes : " If any man says 
he loves God and hates his brother, the 
same is a liar. " 

Here again we say, for our comfort, 
that brotherly love is subject to the 
same law of gradual development; that 
the new creature, gradually growing, is 
just here to have its hardest fight with 
the old nature; that selfishness presents 
the strongest obstacle to brotherly love ; 
and the daily self-denial and taking up 
of the cross which Jesus demanded of 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 



his followers is nowhere so hard as in 
this direction. But any one who, after 
years of so-called Christian living, still 
passes his neighbor by in coldness and 
indifference must, if he is honest with 
himself, acknowledge that he cannot take- 
it ill if the genuineness of his Christian 
faith is to be doubted, and also ask him- 
self whether he has really been born of 
the Spirit, whether the inward experiences 
of which he boasted were not wholly or 
partly based on self-delusion. He who 
loves God must also, at least to some 
degree, love his neighbor, — it cannot 
be otherwise; for the love of God, if it 
is genuine, and not based upon emo- 
tional self-deception, must rouse into 
activity three strong motives for broth- 
erly love. Let us examine these in 
their order. 

Perfect love "casteth out fear;" but 
there is a kind of fear which therein 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. . 33 

finds its source, — namely, the holy 
dread of any loosening of the bond, of 
doing anything to disturb that inward 
oneness which constitutes the essence 
of love. Now, he who fulfilled the law, 
and bore our sins in his body on the 
cross, has left the explicit command that 
his followers should " love one another, 
as he loved them." He comes back to 
it over and over again; in parables, as 
well as in his direct teaching, he pro- 
claims anew the indispensableness of 
brotherly love. And his apostles follow 
his example most faithfully. Who can 
count all the passages in which this 
subject is treated, from the Sermon on 
the Mount to Christ's words after the 
washing of his feet, and the last dis- 
course before his death ; from the exhor- 
tations in the epistle to the Romans to 
that of John ? In view of such unequivo- 
cal expressions, it is impossible to con- 
3 



34 LOV& AND FORGIVENL 

Ceive that one can enjoy undisturbed 

communion with Christ while living in 
disobedience to his command, with the 
heart in full possession of selfishness. 
All uncharitableness lies like a cloud 
between us and the face of the Lord, 
and does not allow us the full joy of 
communion with Him again until bitter 
tears of repentance have been shed. 
Any one who knows the inner life can 
out of his own experience recall many 
proofs of how every unkind word, even- 
uncharitable dealing, every resentment 
of an injury, came as a disturbing ele- 
ment between him and God. But every 
one whose heart's desire is expressed in 
the words, "Whom have I in heaven but 
thee? and there is none upon earth that 
I desire besides thee," will submit to 
any sacrifice rather than draw upon him- 
self the pain of separation from God. 
He who is accustomed to breathe pure 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 35 

air feels himself choked and uncom- 
fortable in a room filled with smoke; he 
who stands in loving relations with God 
feels unable to exist if His support is 
withdrawn from him. The longing to 
enjoy undisturbed oneness with God, the 
fear that the light of His countenance 
may be hidden, is then for the Christian 
a mighty spur in the struggle against 
uncharitableness. For oneness, full, 
blessed oneness, can only be when there 
is but one mind. Every "division" re- 
moves it, temporarily, at least. We 
must be at one with God if our rela- 
tion to him is to remain undisturbed. 
But He is Love, and we alone live ac- 
ceptably to Him so far as we live in 
love. The longer and more faithfully 
we strive to fulfil His commands, how- 
ever, the more our conscience becomes 
sensitive and exacting. It may seem to 
us at first quite sufficient to follow the 




3d LOVE AND F0RGIVEN1 

old rule, " Love thy neighbor as thy- 
self;" but more and more \vc .shall fee] 

compelled to take our Lord's words in 

earnest, "All things whatsoever ye 

would that men should do to you, do 
ye even SO to them," — so greatly do 
our self-love and self-seeking offer re- 
sistance to this precept, even when we 
apply it to persons with whom God has 
placed us in close relations. As to the ap- 
plication of this principle, what is more 
suited to bring us in all humility face 
to face with the fact that we owe again 
and again the five hundred pence, than 
our conduct in a single day? The Chris- 
tian life is indeed not something ready 
finished, granted once for all through 
the new birth. The narrow gate of sal- 
vation and repentance does not stand 
alone at the entrance of the way, and 
forgiveness and mercy are not attained 
at once forever. Just as a man must 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS: 37 

daily eat and daily hunger again, so 
too must the Christian in daily repent- 
ance implore forgiveness for his daily 
sins and for the indwelling of the Holy 
Spirit, which alone makes the attain- 
ment of holiness possible. In this un- 
folding follow in constant rotation the 
consciousness of sin, its forgiveness, one- 
ness with God, and striving for holiness, 
which through new achievement leads 
to new sensitiveness to sin. Thus only 
can the Christian be armed against this 
deadliest enemy, spiritual pride, which 
lulls him into security and mortally im- 
perils his life. All who with sincere 
hearts are struggling with sin, and yet 
are ready to despair because their prog- 
ress seems to them scarcely percepti- 
ble, may have this consolation; let these 
words strengthen you : " My grace is 
sufficient for thee; for my strength is 
made perfect in weakness;" made per- 



38 LOVE AND FORGtVBNl 

feet too, to strengthen brotherly love, 
until it has gained full mastery over 
selfishne 

Next in importance to the dread of 
seeing our union with God interrupted 
and disturbed, comes, as a second motive 
to brotherly love, the wish to live ac- 
ceptably to Him who lias bestowed upon 
Us all that we have. In the tempta- 
tions to uncharitableness and unkind- 
ness which assail us on all sides, this 
desire may serve as a very real protec- 
tion. " Do it for the love of God; n 
"Bear it for Him;" "Be silent for love 
of Him," — from such words may come 
new strength to secure the half-won bat- 
tle. The weary labor will be hallowed 
and sweetened if undertaken as -in the 
service of the Lord's vineyard, and 
much that we cannot willingly do for 
our neighbor becomes possible if we 
can say to ourselves that we do it for 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 39 

our Saviour, — for him who for us can- 
celled the great debt of "ten thousand 
pounds. " Unjust demands are often 
made of the Christian, which, however, 
he must not avoid if he follows the apos- 
tle's command, "as much as in him lies, 
to live peaceably with all men." The 
more perfected a man's natural sense of 
right is, however, the less he is himself 
inclined to make unreasonable demands 
of others; and so much the harder is it 
for him in such cases to give up and com- 
ply himself. To walk two miles when 
he is only obliged to walk one is never 
the natural human way. Perhaps, in- 
deed, he would voluntarily go three; but 
to be forced to appears hard, almost un- 
bearable to him. Only when the Chris- 
tian, behind the voice that "requires," 
can discern God; when out of imperative 
human words he can hear the Saviour's 
gentle "Do it for my sake," and all 



40 LOVE AND FORGIVENl 

bitterness thereby is driven from his 

heart, — is he able to practise this most 

difficult kind of self-denial. For a sin- 
cere Christian to have to do at all with 
those who are not earnest followers of 
Christ, and are therefore not bending 
all their energies to live according to 
the law of love, is not easy. "The best 
cannot live in peace, if it does not 
please his evil neighbor," says the 
poet. Often enough must the Christian 
experience the truth of this saying, and 
he suffers doubly through such hostility 
because in a certain way, it seems as if 
he were bound hand and foot, and al- 
most at the mercy of his opponent. 
The old weapons which the natural man 
might have used are now taken from 
him. Should he return unkindness and 
insult in like coin, he would disturb 
his relations with God, who through 
his Son has said, " Bless them that 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 41 

curse you; do good to them that hate 
you; and pray for them which despite- 
fully use you and persecute you." Hard, 
very hard often, is this struggle against 
the "self," and only too often does the 
natural man get the victory over the 
new creature, and hurry him into pas- 
sionate outbreaks, for which he must 
afterwards in repentance and sorrow 
seek forgiveness, before the light of 
God's countenance can shine for him 
again. But if he can remember at the 
right time the infinite bounty of his 
Redeemer; if he can hear the inward 
call, "Bear it, be silent for the love of 
God," — then out of the love which fills 
his heart for him who has forgiven him 
all, will flow the strength to be silent 
and endure. But silence and endurance 
help very much to soften such discords; 
even if they cannot heal the wound, they 
can prevent its becoming wider, and if 



42 LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 

the relation between two persons bound 
to each other does not become worse as 

time goes on, it must naturally grow 

better. And so the hard task of return- 
ing indifference and hostility with love 
grows easier and easier, and that, too, 
without considering that God has a thou- 
sand ways and means of showing justice 
in his good time to his children, if they 
do not seek either appreciation or ven- 
geance, and of convincing those who hated 
and injured them of their injustice. 

And still a third, and not less effectual 
motive for brotherly love is awakened 
through love to God. It is in the sense 
of oneness with him that there comes 
to us a true knowledge of men, by which 
we learn to understand their individu- 
ality, their weaknesses and good quali- 
ties. One may be a great philosopher, 
and have a profound knowledge of human 
nature, and be able to analyze accurately 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 43 

all the emotions of the heart, and yet, in 
a special case, when true personal charac- 
ter is at stake, make a wholly erroneous 
judgment. A true objectivity is pos- 
sible only when self-love is accustomed 
to retire, when man is not judged as to 
his behavior in relation to one's own 
personal "self." Riickert says truly, — 

" As from the central fire to earth the sunbeams dart, 
So falls a ray from God in every creature's heart ; 
And by this spark it is that in his bosom glows, 
His lineage from God, His child, the creature knows. 
From creature out to creature there shines no heav- 
enly ray, 
But broken, lurid gleams, confusing where they play ; 
Think not thou canst by such thy fellow recognize. 
A bitter darkness still shall veil him from thine eyes. 
Nay, mount thou up to God, and gazing thence below, 
Along a ray not thine, thy brother shalt thou know ; 
For only so canst thou the creature see aright, 
United with thyself y within the Source of Light." 

Thus the poet represents our meaning 
exactly. For the reason that the mo- 
tives of our neighbor do not lie as 



44 LOVE AND FORGIVEN! 

openly before us as our own, we attrib- 
ute to him as serious faults things for 
which in ourselves we should discover 
a thousand mitigating circumstances. 

The reason for this injustice in most 
cases lies neither in intention nor in 
ill-will; the fact is that we are not able 
to see what is passing in the inmost 
depths of his heart which would explain 
and excuse his behavior. For example, 
it would be hard for us at an outburst 
of anger in our fellow-creature to put it 
to the account of tired nerves, mental 
exhaustion, or bodily illness, as clearly 
as we like to for ourselves when we 
fall a prey to the temptation to anger, 
Perhaps we succeed to a certain extent 
when we are present at such an outbreak 
as impartial witnesses; but if we our- 
selves are the victim upon which it vents 
itself, then all understanding or consid- 
eration of bodily or spiritual conditions 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 45 

ceases, and for him who has violated the 
majesty of our "self" almost no reproach 
is severe enough. 

But near to God and in communion 
with Christ we gradually learn to look 
upon men as He, the All-Merciful did. 
The servant to whose consciousness it 
is a living fact that his own debt of a 
thousand pounds has been cancelled can- 
not possibly feel ready to destroy his 
fellow-servant because he owes him a 
hundred pence. He remembers too 
clearly how he himself fell into debt; 
he knows too well in what fashion we 
are made, and the humbling conscious- 
ness that even he, though supported and 
upheld by strength from above, is always 
falling again and again into sin, will 
make the faults of one who has not yet 
fully entered upon discipleship, and for 
whom the "They know not what they 
do " may again be used, seem far more 



46 LOVE AND 

excusable. The Christian who has him- 
self experienced this forgiving love 
never forget that God "had compassion 91 
on him; that he, the Holy One, beheld 
his sin undismayed; that he, the Pure 
One, did not shrink from the impurity 
of his heart. And he in whom this 
great change of conversion has taken 
place knows well that no one is so bad, 
so perverted, so godless that he cannot 
some time be restored. He learns to 
discern in every human being the dear 
child of his Heavenly Father, and com- 
passion for the misery and need of his 
brother takes possession of his heart. 
He pities his fellow-man, and instead of 
lifting his hand against him in anger and 
violence, the desire rises to help him ; for 
compassion is the outer court which 
leads directly into the Temple of Love. 
And even if, so long as we wander on 
earth, our love remains always imper- 



LOVE AND FORGIVENESS. 4/ 

feet and fragmentary, it is nevertheless 

a guiding-star by which all our living 

and doing are regulated. It no longer 

comes to us as an outside command to 

live in loving obedience towards God; 

the fear of losing our union with him 

moves us; through the working of the 

Holy Spirit upon our hearts they gradu- 

; ally attain a natural compelling impulse, 

I and now for the first time we recognize 

\ how this, "the greatest thing in the 

I world," lightens and sweetens the bur- 

j den of life. 

But we who are all striving for this 

highest good, to the prayer of the young 

'man, "Lord, increase our faith," must 

;add, "and give us love." We all who 

value the promise of Jesus, "Ask, and 

it shall be given unto you," must not 

i forget that only out of the forgiveness 

J that we have received grows directly the 

love to God, and indirectly, love to man ; 



/ 

48 LOVE AND FORGIVENL 

that the summum aonum, the :st 

thing in the world," .stands in deep and 

fundamental union with the conscious 

ness of our sins. He only who Sincerely 
mourns over himself, and has it con- 
stantly in mind what an enormous bur- 
den has been removed from him, — only 
such a heart has the necessary quality 
while "resting in Jesus," through the 
magnetic power of his love, to be trans- 
formed itself into a magnet of love; and 
upon such alone can the process of in- 
duction be fulfilled upon which Henry 
Drummond discourses, for he only "to 
whom much is forgiven loves much." 



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